Overlooked
by meowbooks
Summary: These oneshots are devoted to the overlooked characters or objects of the movie.
1. Water's Reasons

**Water's Reasons**

Countless, countless, tales of the sea, she would be _nothing_ without me,

a bit of salt nothing more; dead creatures, shriveled plants.

No ships would sail, no tales would be spun,

pirates and freedom, rivers of rum

sunken treasure, sirens' haunting

mermaids flaunting…

of legends and lore

battles and gore

ethereal winds

watery ends


	2. No Empathy

**No Empathy**

"You need not know my name. Truth be told I doubt it if you'd even care what it was. That's the way it is for people of my occupation. Why would that be? I'll tell you, though I figure you'll leave when I do, but I'm an honest citizen, truly I am. Just like you. I do my duty when it calls. Don't like it much, but who else'll do it? Not many keen on it, so I have to do it. Just the way it is, just the way it has always been.

No one wants to be an executioner.

I suppose you'll be leaving now. Or you're thinking I'm a horrid person. It used to be that executioners didn't have hoods and things. People would throw dark looks, whisper as they past, gossip 'bout how evil and mean we were. Well, I _have_ to be there. Not like when folk gather around the gallows of their own accord, just to fill the time-like- like it was some sort of entertainment! Shameful it is, leastways in my opinion.

Some executioners, they're frightnin'! Gloating 'bout the new boots they gots, boasting about the nefarious pirates, murderers, and spies they've rid the world of. Others they flex their tree-trunk arms, scarin' people left, right, center. I'm shuddering just thinking about it. I mean the way some folk go on about it; it's like the poor souls were trophies or ribbons!

Honestly, I like it better when they get away. 'Course, when that happens I don't get paid, but I always find other work to do-much more agreeable sort of work. You might be wondering what I'm doing here rambling like I am. I don't rightly know to tell the truth, but seeing as I'm stuck in this cell next to yours I thought I might as well tell you a little bit about myself. What? No, the dog's run off and that Jack Sparrow locked me in here!


	3. Strings

**Disclaimer:** This third addition to Overlooked is about Murtogg and Mullroy.Murtogg and Mullroy were those funny little King's navy men who had a lengthy conversation about the Pearl not being real.So without further ado...

**Strings**

My mate Mully and I were guarding a ship, don't remember the name actually, but it was hot as it usually is in Port Royal. That got me wondering, with it being hot all the time here, why did we have to wear boots?_ I_ always thought you were suppose to wear boots during winter, you know when it's cold. Just didn't make sense.

I bet you're wondering why I had the time to think about boots. I mean, I could've been thinking about important things like life after the military or something. Well, the fact of the matter was there really isn't that much to do being a guard in all. I mean you wouldn't think it would be boring, but it was.

Not many people bother you during that time. People know you're guarding a ship and don't bother you in the least bit. We were on duty you see, and you're not suppose to preoccupy yourself with nice long conversations that help past the time- someone could steal the ship, you know. But hardly anyone ever did. So we did preoccupy ourselves in that particular way, mostly because there wasn't anything to do. That afternoon I started the conversation-it was my turn you see:

"What do we do now?"

"What about trying to do something heroic?" Mullroy ventured, even though we knew we weren't suppose to move. He had never suggested doing that before and frankly I didn't know what to make of it.

"Like what?"

"I dunno. I 've never tried." he shrugged. So we stood at our posts a bit more- in silence, then a thought came to me.

"We did fight skeletal pirates. That's heroic."

"No, that was stupid." I was surprised-the last thing I thought he would say was that was stupid! I mean we had been shocked to find skeletal pirates on our ship-even shook each other's hands before charging into them. I had found it exciting if a bit terrifying. So I told him:

"Stupid? What we did wasn't stupid!"

"Yes, it was-they were immortal skeletons! What we were doing was stupid-there was no way we could've won!"

"But we did win-and we didn't know they were undead at the time," I pointed out. "So we were uninformed."

"Sword swinging skeletal sailors _have_ to be immortal!"

"I thought they were undead?" I frowned, he had to make everything confusing-when the entire thing was confusing to begin with!

"How can you be undead?" scoffed Mully. " Not being dead means being alive and if you're alive and can't be killed you're immortal."

"I thought they weren't alive or dead. That's what the stories said." Actually, that's what Mr. Sparrow had said. I had figured he would know seeing as how he had been mixed up in the middle of everything.

"The only way for them to be that would be to be a rock." Mullroy concluded.

"A rock?" Now he was confusing me even more.

"Yes, rocks have never and will never be alive and you need to be alive before you're dead."

"How do you know rocks will never be alive? Never is forever you know."

"Good point. But that doesn't change the fact that rocks have never been alive and you have to be alive before you can die."

"Well, how do we know the skeletons were alive?"

"How do we-you're not-"he sputtered, "-they were dodging and parrying and-and ATTACKING! How-how would they do that if-if they weren't alive?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Strings?"

"_Strings_. Strings can't turn skeletons back into men!"

"Lighting could make it-"

" _Lighting?_ That's rich, they smelt horrible-how do explain that? Lighting…"

"Ships…smell?"

"Ha! We smell ships and the sea all the time-we're on a bloody island we ought to know what the sea smells like!"

"I don't go around smelling ships."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Well it sounded as if YOU went around smelling ships, going on about what ships smell like-what was I s'ppose to think?"

"Let's talk about those strings again shall we?"

So we had nice lengthy conversation that helped past the time about strings instead of undead pirates.


	4. In the Stone Chest

**In the Stone Chest**

Taunting, flaunting showing off how they shine, wanting, wanting to be taken away for a time.

Prizes to be claimed, doing the claiming. You cannot own them they can own you.

Round little disks they sit and wait. Waiting for greed to overtake.

Longing to snare those who want power.Steal it away, lock it up.

A treasure better buried beneath the ground, never found.


	5. Bottoms Up

**Bottoms Up**

You might've seen exotic places, been in wood-seeping cold wind and icy waters, seen mermaids and sirens and selkies and specters, but you can't-won't-ever get to see what this boat of a bewhiskered feeble fisherman has seen.

Now you may wonder what a simple old rowboat could've possibly done, well I'll tell you!

I was beached, lying in the sun, relaxing as I watched those navy characters scurry about like ants, hauling crates and chests and fruit up the gangplank of that ship-what was it? Ah, right the_ Interceptor._

They never take one moment to look around. Never. Always shooting their rifles and swashing their shiny swords, shouting and botherin' ol' pieces of driftwood and creaky ships-not to mention the marching. Oh, them and their marching!

_Everyday_ with the marching! Those young people in brocade and shiny shoes and uniforms too thick in this insufferable heat, some who ought to stay stuck like a barnacle to land on account of not being able to make like a fish-and surrounded by water as they were!

Ah, but I won't spare another moment of your time ranting like I haven't an idea what I'm saying. So I was watching them, not much else I could do, when up and swaying out of the trees came a sea farer and that blacksmith's journeyman-Turner, I think. I could tell the older one was a sailor salt stiff in his hair, brown as a coconut-not like that journeyman who spent a good amount of his life inside hammering and melting-hat weathered by water and faded clothing. Course he looked peculiar even for a sailor, frivolities like beads in his hair and dangling coins.

They picked me up and started for the water. _What are they doing? Hey, put me down you! Where are you taking me?PUT ME DOWN!_ Course they he didn't hear me- mostly no one pays attention to what ships and boats are saying. To my surprise the older one muttered, " 'Scuse us, we're in a bit of a muddle, off to save his lady love from pirates…"

It was as if I'd been kissed by a mermaid-I couldn't believe it! He'd _understood_ me! I hardly noticed what was going on till they pulled me under over their heads, sinking to the bottom o' the harbor. They walked, the sand floating back gently after bein' disturbed, salt swam 'round, sounds were muffled, the waves washed over me.

When they neared the Dauntless they let me free to float to the surface after tying me to a rock. That was considerate of them. I don't see how I would get back if I drifted. In awe, I watched as they climbed aboard and commandeered the mighty navy ship. As I watched them snatch the _Interceptor_, their true goal I thought back on what had happened.

"This is either madness or brilliant."

"It's remarkable how often those traits coincide."

Remarkable. I'll say it was! Fishes gaping in wonder at the sight of us and seaweed waving as if saying, "Welcome, this is what the sea really is!", crabs fighting over shells stopping to marvel at me marveling at them, the sun dancing through the water reflecting on the sandy bottom, oysters spitting at me for defying the laws of what boats could or could not do! It was unlike anything I'd ever done or ever will. I went under near to the bottom of the sea and _lived_ to float another day!

Those fancy, over decorated,disbelievin' young ships in the harbor with their shiny cannons, figureheads and-and sails thing think that I'm an ol' fool! Well, I'm not!

I apologize, I shouldn't be shouting when you've taken a good 'mount of your time listening. I appreciated it, don't be thinking any diff'rent , not many listen to ol' rowboats.


	6. Tortuga Table

**Tortuga Table**

Ah, I can still smell the foul breath of them. Hear the jeering, shouting, teasing jocularity, revelry or ominous threats swung back and forth, the slapping, the pounding of fists, the blissful unawareness of snorers and those too soaked in spirits-liquid and lore.

The tension pulled tight in the air, bent until it shattered, flying everywhere, the last straw flung, as the imminent duel, fight, whatever it happened to be became known.

I can see it-the Tortuga regulars hurrying out of the room, jumping out windows, seizing the chance to flee without so much as a coin lost on their part-managing to bash one more bottle on someone's head before slithering their slippery selves out. The tavern keeper sliding down- into what he prays is the safety of under the counter.

The two jump, dodge, swerve, overturn tables, slide, and bash, shatter bottles, send barrels rolling and otherwise redecorate the area. I remember- the spectators outside peering through windows, chattering, bets being made, taunts, laughter.

Truly the privilege, honor and prestige of having been there was all mine! Yes, I remember, the countless times I was home to many a card game, present for singing loud and wrong, dancing, mugs, dirty boots and sea salted hats resting on my tabletop, rumors, tales that had been newly stitched, sewed into others, cut up destroyed and reinvented.

I recall a time when the name Captain Jack Sparrow was uttered in the same breath of Blackbeard , a time when science, logic, and reason were beginning to take hold, but old superstitions were still held and followed, when there were so many things left to discover, to find, to imagine.

Now, I do not stand in a tavern listening to the ramblings and chatter of pirates and the poor. I sit in a museum, telling all those who can hear-who are willing-of times forgotten, overlooked, of people and places-letting them know everything has a story and a voice.

Even a rickety…old…table.


	7. The Kraken

**Disclaimer:** No spoilers-if you've seen the DMC website or trailer. Disney owns Pirates.

**The Kraken**

Ruin.

Destroy. Kill.

Tear wood to splinters.

Suck away their dreams.

Wrap away until nothing more is seen.

A pet. Pet?

His willing servant?

Mindless?

No, a slave.

No kind eyes gaze upon me.

No creature to care for.

End it.

Kill the soul stealer.

Let me rest in the depths,

in the dark.

Never again-

hear screams-

see pain-

Be the horror.

The Kraken.


	8. Waiting

**Disclaimer: **Much as I would wish it, I do not own _Pirates_ or any of it's lovely characters.Gibbs doesn't seem to be the subject of many stories, which is a bit sad as he seems to be quite interesting. The lyrics Gibbs sings were not written by me, but everything else was. This oneshot is about...

**Waiting**

It was night. Off the coast of a country under Turkish rule, miles out to sea was a ship just as dark as its surroundings and seemingly at home. If you had been there no telling why you would be, but if you were you would be able to hear a low voice singing:

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest-"Gibbs walked across the main deck in a sort of dance. "yo,ho,ho and a bot'le of rum..."he finished the line with a long gulp from his trusty canteen.Time for another verse,"Fifteen men of 'em good and true - 'yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! Ev'ry man jack could ha' sailed with Old Pew..."

Singing never hurt anyone and he found as many other sailors had, it was a way to pass the time when you were beached ,suffering from a lack of wind, or just _waiting_.  
There was no knowing when Jack would return or how. You never could tell with Jack Sparrow.

"Ten of the crew had the murder mark..." Gibbs took another gulp and leaned on a siderail looking towards land. There wasn't much to see.Black and grey was all there was to it. Fog and dark."Yo ho ho and a bot'le of rum..."  
_Where is he?_ He sighed and walked across the deck to the port side and scanned what he could see. "With a yo-heave-ho! an' a fare-ye-well...Hm.Hm...and a sudden plunge in the sullen swell...Who writes these songs?"

"With sightless glare and their lips struck dumb..." Gibbs continued to sing, but this was the third go around of the same song so he chose his favorite lines instead of going through the verses in order. "...while we shared all by the rule of thumb, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!"

"See him?" Gibbs turned around and looked down it was Marty, one of the Black Pearl's shorter crew members. Gibbs shook his head, "No, but do you know any other songs?"

"I think you've sung all of them twice except for..."

"The one with 'a pirate's life for me...' "sighed Gibbs.

"Yeah."

How many times had Jack tried to teach it to them? Although, all of those times he _had_ had more than his share of drinks-he could be forgiven. What self respecting pirate would sing that when in possession of all their mental abilities? _I suppose that would be me..._

"Why not?" shrugged Gibbs. Together they started the song:

"We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot..."

A bell. A distinct, sharp ringing that traveled from the Turkish prison cliffs all the way to the Pearl. Miles of sea and fog, yet the sound could be heard.

Bells. He took a look at the watch-glass. The last grains of sand were pouring into the bottom. He turned it over and struck the ship's bell. One more hour and his watch would be over.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest...yo ho ho and a bot'le of rum," Why not? He continued his made up steps to the song. "Drink and the devil had done for the rest...yo ho ho and a bot'le of rum…" When Jack boarded the waiting would be over.

Waiting. He had waited before in worst conditions. It was worst when a ship was at sea with not a flutter in it's sails, when the sun seemed to be so high, so hot, without it's friend the breeze. It was worst when you were sick of the sight of everyone on board, of the smell of salt, tar, the moving of what was beneath your feet. It was worst when you ached for green, for sand, for dirt, for land.

Yes, he had waited many times in worst conditions, but that didn't mean he had learned to like the wait.


	9. Beckett's Boots

**Beckett's Boots**

Dark, long, made of leather,

first seen in rainy weather

Power, confidence, style

many would love to gaze a while.

At night by lantern's glowing fire,

they spied two shoes and wished to inquire,

What lady did wear them so well,

their lord did like her they could tell.

A few graceful steps, ones quite long,

and the boots were smitten with love so strong.

Alas! Poor boots, it was not fate,

the lady and shoes departed into the late.

And so the lovely boots still sigh,

hoping the lady and shoes will stroll by.


	10. Can’t Without Canvas

**Can't Without Canvas**

I'm tired. Tired of hearing about how wonderful ships are-how smoothly they glide across the waters, how beautiful, how sleek, how captains are always following in love with them and it simply isn't fair. People speak of ropes and rigging, of rudders and bowsprits, masts and everything else. But not us.

Ships, seamen, the occasional sea woman, understand. They know how important we are. Writers and poets however, seem to add us as an afterthought or merely as a part of a ship. They name us only when necessary. We do not ask for praise or poems or medals. We merely want to hear that we matter too. A whispered thanks or a smile would do.

Day and night we strain, pull and wear ourselves to threads. We have no one with which to change our watch, no other to do what we do, no time to rest, relax or take a breath.Men from all countries landlocked, island, desert, tundra, tropical, woodland, urbane, rural ride what we move. From the very first moment we are made and hoisted lives depend on our skill to find the wind. Working with her we move grand ships of all kinds. Dories, galleons, men o' war, brigs, rafts, merchant, royal, navy-- pirate just to name a few. We persuade her to push us towards home. When she leaves us to push some other sail, we must ask for her to return quickly, to spare those that we pull. It is what we do.

Please, just a smile and we'll be renewed and ready to call for the wind forever.


	11. Lost

**Lost**

The years have passed and with them what I was. I'm a watcher now imprisoned in flesh, sinew, wood and sea. Every day what's left of me is stretched, pulled, further into the livin' vessel of condemned souls. Every tug is renewed agony, every movement I am less, I am dying without end.

I am locked away like his heart was in the very depths of me. I see, but rarely am I seen. Nor can I reach out. More and more I can say nothing even when I wish to. The last time- the last it happened seems so long ago…I've lost time. It might've been today and I would not know.

Bootstrap and a new one. How I loathe seeing a new one. This one was young-too young to be another soul, another to share my fate, another to mourn for.

"So I'm to understand what you did was an act of compassion." said the young one angrily."

"Yes." the young one softened. "One hundred years before the mast. Loosing who you are, bit by bit. 'Till you end up, end up like poor, Wyvern, here." I inwardly hung my head and closed my eyes after seeing the boy's expression. " Once you've sworn an oath to the Dutchman, there's no leaving it. Not until your debt is paid."

It rang bitter and true. "I've sworn no oath."

"Then you must get away." Bootstrap said echoing my hope for him. The boy unfolded a ragged cloth,"Not until I find this. The key."

The key! "The Dead Man's Chest," I moaned summoning energy I thought I had lost to wrench forward severing some of me that had fused. Bootstrap watched in amazement-so rare was the occasion.

"What do you know of it?"

"Open the chest with the key and stab the heart." I urged, and then another voice reasoned with me. I would only cause the boy more hurt. "No, don't stab the heart. The Dutchman needs a living heart or there'll be no captain. If there's no captain, there's no one to have the key."

"So the Captain has the key." I had said too much. What had possessed me to even try! "Where is the key?"

It was too late, but I would not-could not have him share my fate. It was the fate of one who had tried, "Hidden."

**"**Where is the chest?"

"Hidden." I had ruined him. _Foolish, curse-ed old man you've done it! You've killed him…_No, no. I shouldn't have. I withdrew. This time willingly and it was only too happy to receive me. It is something that now I regret. I know not what became of him. I didn't see him after that. I can only think he is lost. Hopefully not as I am.

My birth name if I ever possessed one is lost. There is but one name I am still called. It is name that has never left this drifting craft to my knowledge. A name they speak of when they contemplate their own fate on this Flying Dutchman. A name they hope never to be with what hope they have left. I am Wyvern.


	12. Shards of Crusty Glass: Part One

**Disclaimer:** At World's End is beyond awesome. This is an idea that I've had since DMC so no AWE spoilers are to be found here. Ah, no I don't own PotC. Yes, this is one of the things I've been working on.I usually only have one shots here, but this is turning out a bit longer than expected so here is...

**Shards of Crusty Glass: Part One**

I knew dust and spice jars, feathers and scales, leaves and earthy pots, the dim flicker of near burnt candles and stray slivers of sunlight, the croaks of creatures and swash of water I never say. My world was a crowded shelf, sitting between dragonfly wings and crocodile teeth, blocked from view by swamp water jars. I remember the low voice of the dark eyed mystical one who would speak to us. She told us what we were, how important we would be to those that braved the swamps and up river run. We were meant for magic that is long lost like the age I come from.

I can't be certain of how long I sat waiting, watching other things being whisked away form their cozy corners of the shack. I had no way of measuring time and eventually I convinced myself that I would never see anything, but that place. I told my dusty glass self that I was fortunate to be where I was. Other jars held fruit or jelly or boring things. I held magic and earth.

The day came like all the others, the same view from the shelf, the same air, the same old hope abandoned.

"Where are you my, darling?" the voice I knew so well called out. I dully wondered who would be taken. She shifted pouches, trinkets, jars, and wooden boxes. She pushed aside the swamp water jar and her eyes widened. She smiled, pulled me out, cradled me in one arm and thrust me into unknown hands. I couldn't believe it.

I knew they must be the people flies used to brag about seeing to me. People. I had only known one, had thought there was one kind, but there they stood. A one eyed man, another with straggly hair on his head, one with grey hair, one with brown, another with what I now know were two goatees. Their skin was so pale. I had thought they were all the earthy color that she was.

I was going somewhere. I didn't even know what somewhere was! All I knew was that it would be different. The unknown hands that held me, this was the pirate she had told me about the one who had crossed the sea devil and soul stealer Davy Jones. Captain Jack Sparrow.

He held me protectively as he sauntered out of her shack, down the rungs of the ladder and into a rowboat. I trembled in excitement, looking around, taking everything in. The world was so large! I could see the frogs that croaked, fireflies flickered overhead, water moved beneath the rowboat, trees gnarled and straight stood tall, mosquitoes landed on me trying to see if I had blood instead of dirt, flesh instead of glass.

The rowboat left the shadows of the swamp giving way to the sun and sea. The sun was a hot white eye that glared at me, bright and blinding to a jar who had known little light before, the sea an endless monster rocking the rowboat trying to knock us into it's gaping mouth, wide and bottomless. Jack gripped me tighter and I was grateful someone shared my fear.

We reached a ship black as charcoal. I was unsettled as he climbed up the side of the ship, one arm around me, the other on the rungs, nothing but air between the blue monster's mouth and me. I relaxed when a solid wooden deck blocked the cursed thing from me. The rocking wasn't as bad now and I was no longer shocked by the sun's light.

Above me the canvas sails unfurled calling to the wind speaking in rustles and straining threads, the ship told me its name in creaks, and the tarred ropes were silent and hard at work. I felt unworthy, they had a place, a purpose, they worked together, knew each other so well. What was I, but a jar? What good was holding magic if I couldn't do anything with it?

_You'll find your purpose in due time, you can be sure of that._ It was the compass that hung from his belt. _When?_ I asked. _A compass can only point you in the right direction it can't bring you to the destination. Sorry, dear._

Jack walked into his cabin, closing the door behind him and locking it tight. He sank into a chair at his desk, set me on it and looked at me doubtfully. "Welcome aboard, jar of dirt."


	13. Shards of Crusty Glass: Part Two

**Disclaimer: **Yup, the Jar of Dirt is Jack's. I'm just borrowing it.

**Shards of Crusty Glass: Part Two**

The captain, my captain, kept me near, pacing the decks of his ship, hissing at the monkey, sitting at his desk as he pored over the charts strewed across it, in all things, but dreaming the first few days. I could tell he wasn't always this worried, jittery, hide away, sea scared thing. When he woke everyday, felt the sea moving beneath his salt stained boots, his eyes still shut, he would smile at home in those moments before waking or when in deepest of dreams he was himself. All that would disappear when reality tore into his dreams, waking him, shaking natural confidence and ease.

He improved at cloaking the unease, especially around Turner, the young brown hair one after the fourth day of my employment as…what ever it was I was suppose to do. She had only told me I would help him, not how. I hardly felt I helped. I just sat there in his arms or in a trunk.

I pieced together what it was he feared bit by bit as I learned more about him, from what he said, did, and what I learned after my journey with him was over. He had made a deal with the sea devil, Davy Jones to raise the ship we sailed on from the sea and be its captain for 13 years at the end of the last year he would serve him as a slave, body and soul working on Jones' Flying Dutchman for a hundred years losing his memory of the life he had now until he had none left and became part of the ship itself. Two years after the deal was made Jack's first mate mutinied against him and left him to die on an island. The next ten were spent trying to get revenge and his ship back. The last year he had that, but now the year was up and Jack had no intention of fulfilling that agreement.

On the fifth night of sailing we dropped anchor next to a pitiful ship, stuck dead in the water, the hull was split in two and the pieces slanted inward to form an obtuse "v". Jack placed me back in his trunk that sat in his cabin, shut the lid, and turned the key in the lock. I was surrounded by darkness. What was going on?


	14. Shards of Crusty Glass: Part Three

**Shards of Crusty Glass: Part 3 **

That darkness, that sea chest, I loathed it. I could see nothing, I could do nothing, and I could hear _everything_! I could hear the pistol and baldrics argue over who was more important, the books quote philosophy, the charts wrinkling over where they were going, but the most maddening sounds were that of outside. All I could think about was what was _outside_ of that musty box.

Everything was outside of that box. Things changed everyday outside of that box. Things such as the sun and its extraordinary ability to burn for hours, dip below the watery horizon and later resurface undaunted by its wet trip. Nothing was constant. The wind whistled a different way answering the sails' calls for her, the sails were always a bit more worn, more salt sprayed onto thePearl, with every second. The queen of change, the sea never stopped moving. I say queen because that is the way my captain saw the sea, though the sea has no gender. I was still weary of it, but I began to realize it reminded me of the mystical one. She always moved as if she were searching for something. There was always something beneath what I could see, something hidden. Yes, I had always known her, but it would be a lie to say we who sat on her shelves knew all her secrets.


	15. Shards of Crusty Glass: Part Four

**Disclaimer**:Nope, sorry, the mouse owns PotC...

Shards of Crusty Glass:Part Three

The dark-eyed mystic's shelf never had this unrelenting darkness. During the day, sunlight snuck through the cracks in the wooden boards mingling with candlelight and when night swept in, more candles were lit, a few of the flowers encased in glass glowed, and other bottles would hum and flicker after a day of silent dimness.

The darkness of the sea chest was not kind to me. I no longer had her mutterings to console me or my ignorance to shield me. I knew so little of her, of her and the world. The dreaded fear intensified and slithered around me. After a brief glimpse of the world, was I destined to stay seated? Had I missed it? Had I missed all I would ever experience? Had I served my purpose unaware the moment had come and passed? Blast her whisperings of destiny! Without them these ideas would never have entered my consciousness. I would've been a container holding dirt, without longings, without aspirations, without the notions of greater things. I'd be safe from serpentine thoughts winding round, round, round,round—

The heavens opened with a creak and dirt smeared hands reached for me. If I'd been human I would've cried. The fob watch curled up on the stack of papers in the sea chest did not share my joy. _It's been three days,ye sobbing jar. _

My captain's compass was more reassuring._ Be kind, fob watch, you measure time, but it hasn't been as precious to you. Remember what it was like when you were new and the world was the same._ The watch's ticking did not change in tone or rhythm, but it sounded like tutting to me before it replied. _Mystical objects and your romantic notions. Hah. I have a solid purpose.I don't need to fret over trifles._

My captain hoisted me into an arm and slammed the sea-chest shut drowning out the fob watch's distain. He was shaken from his confidence and ease again and held me close as we descended into the rowboat. He plopped himself down cross-legged in the bobbing rowboat. Once again, I was keenly aware of the blue, monstrous sea moving beneath the thin layer of wood we floated on.

"You're pulling too fast!"

"You're pulling too slow!"

The two talkative pirates weren't any help with their unsteady rhythm and grumbling. My thoughts towards them then were unnecessarily harsh. Everything was so urgent and all consuming for me in those days. The immense relief I felt upon reaching the shore was snatched away the instant I realized my captain was leaving me in the boat with the talkative ones. _No, no, no, I want to help! How can I help if you keep running away?_

The rowboat oars must have sensed my frustration. _Now is the time to rest, Jar of Dirt. They will return when they have need of us. _

_Us? At least you know what they need you for—I don't see what good I do._The sun was white and hot and distant and I could feel my glass heating up in it's rays.

_Your captain would not have brought you if he didn't want you or need you. Others may see the good you do even when you do not._ My Captain hadn't given me back. The dark eyed one had said I would how? I wanted to know what good I did. I was tired. I was tired of sitting on a shelf or in a sea chest or waiting in a dinghy rowboat. I wanted to know now. The oars weren't helping at all. Neither were Wooden-eye and his friend spewing nonsense and arguing.

I was delighted when they scurried off somewhere else mumbling about removing temptation from someone's path. A while later I heard the rattle of beaded hair and my captain's voice, "Jar of dirt!"

_Yes, my captain? _Was it now? I was ready. I was ready to—He flipped open my lid's hinge, turned me upside down and began shaking dirt out into the rowboat interrupting my thoughts. _Wha-aaa-t-ssss-hap-ap-en-ning?_ I was relieved when he put me right side up again…until he pulled a beating heart out of his vest.

Not _his_ heart, mind you, but the soul-stealer's heart which had been buried under sand and wood and metal and ink-stained one who had the heart would have the proper leverage over the soul-stealer. Hopefully, my captain would be free. I still wasn't enthusiastic about where he was going to put it.

_Captain, I know you can't understand me, but maybe you could sense this? I do not want a corrupted, lovesick, heart beating inside me._My captain continued scooping out dirt oblivious to my pleas. _No heart, no heart, no heart, no heart- no heh-heeeelllooo, barnacled heart. _

_Greeting mystic jar of dirt. The fair Calypso has sent you from a far—_My captain started shoving dirt back in.

_Who?_I was unprepared for such warm greetings and the sensation of a twitchy, slimy, heart rattling around my jar.

_Why the most alluring and captivating of all creatures, though once she could transform with ease between many forms!_ The heart began to beat faster in its excitement. _Calypso, the mysterious one of great power, she who drove my captain to much grief and despair when he feared her love had wavered—  
_  
My captain snapped the lid shut. A howl sounded behind him. I slipped from his fingers. He swerved avoiding a sword swing and snatched up an oar to defend himself. The thumping heart continued his explanation.

_Calypso, she who must have another name in her current corporeal form, but in my captain's letters he described with fine words the hints of sea salt tinged magic that emanated from her creations. I sense such magic lending you a sentience similar to mine._

_The dark-eyed, mystical one is Davy Jones' love?_ I'd always had the greatest respect for her, but was it possible I had neglected to show her the proper amount? Why hadn't anyone told me? Why hadn't she told us? Was the world always so unpredictable and-

_You are quiet. I apologize for my wordiness, mystic jar. _

The memories of my prejudgments stirred in the back of my mind and I wished I could bury them. The heart was quite polite. Perhaps the notorious Davy Jones hadn't always been the tortured, sadistic, soul of lore._ No, I apologize.I-I-was just surprised.I didn't know._

_Know what,mystic jar?_The sounds of swords clanging,boots stomping in the water, and shouts made my concerns seem small. _It doesn't matter…don't you hear what's happening?_  
_  
I do. But something is troubling you._

I don't want to miss it!

Miss what?

Miss my moment! And spend an eternity wondering what it was or could have been locked in a chest somewhere, useless.

You speak as if life only ever holds one moment where you are valuable.

_But if I'm locked up again—_

It will not be the end of you unless you let it be! He thought I, the heart, was what held love—what he believed was destroying him—and ripped me out of him, locking me away with their letters of affection. I listened to the whispers of the letters, the stories they told, the adventures at land and sea, the sights and sounds, ports and people, and the love he had for all Her forms. Her power gave me sentience and life, but it was through their love that I learned how to live. I vowed that when I reunite with my captain to remind him who he truly is—whether it would be through him coming to reclaim me or in the next life when we are one again. Let go of your fear, mystic jar. Learn from every won't regret it.

How can you be sure?You've just been freed.

_I can't, but today has been glorious! I was unearthed as a treasure, fought over, pursued, and hidden near a pirate's sea is clear, the sand is white and warm, and I have met you, mystic jar. Who knows what else I will meet? This one day has been more than I imagined._

A rumbling noise shook the air, whatever objects made it sloshed into sea, before toppling over with a greater crash and splash. Moments later, the green-eyed man, Norrington, from the Pearl appeared. I remembered him because he didn't fit. He didn't want to be on the Pearl, but he had come anyway. He wasn't among the usual grumblers of the crew. The glares directed at my captain seemed to be about something more than having to scrub the deck. He seemed capable of much more than that. When my captain wasn't looking, I'd seen Norrington retie some other crewman's clumsy knot or correct one of the ancient crewmember's steering. He once slipped into the captain's cabin when my captain was asleep searching for something. He didn't find whatever it was, but before leaving he couldn't help looking at the navigational charts on the desk.

And there he was, sopping wet, standing over the rowboat while Davy Jones' men battled around us and against my captain. Norrington leaned over the rowboat,grabbed my captain's jacket, and shook out the letter of marque. He spotted the loose dirt in the rowboat and looked at me. He knew. My captain needed the heart. Norrington could keep the letter. I had to do something. Stop thumping. He'll feel it when he picks me up.

Norrington looked away. Was it to see if my captain would spot him?

_A heart thumps, mystic jar, I can't stop nor would I if I could. _Norrington reached out a hand.

_Wait, my captain needs you! I need you._ Norrington lifted the lid and spied the thumping heart. I was struck by a sickening realization. I did.I needed the heart. This is what I had to do. This was why my captain needed me. I was suppose to protect the heart. I was suppose to keep it safe. And I was failing.


End file.
